First Snow
by seafarer
Summary: In which Frodo Baggins experiences snow for the first time.


Dedicated to my sister, who loves all babies.

**First Snow**

"Mama! Mama, look!"

Alarmed, Primula Baggins flew out of the kitchen, her hands covered in flour from the bread that she had been kneading, and ran to the front room from where her son's cries had come. Young Frodo stood before the large round window in the front room clad in his nightshirt, his dark curls still rumpled from slumber and standing on end. He was peering outside in excitement, but as soon as she entered he twisted around toward her, excitement dancing in his blue eyes.

"Look, Mama, like whippitid ceam!" the child exclaimed, pointing eagerly out the window and stuttering in his excitement.

Primula inwardly heaved a sigh of relief. "Whipped, love," she gently corrected.

"What I said!" Frodo exclaimed. "Whippt! Look, Mama!"

He continued to point and she moved to the window and peered out, absent-mindedly murmuring, "Don't point, Frodo," and gently pushing his small hand down to his side as she did so. The world beyond the little smial was white; a thick blanket of snow covering everything as far as the eye could see.

Frodo was far too curious to be repressed by his mother's slight reproving action. "What'sat?" he demanded wonderingly.

Primula gave her small son a smile. "It's _snow_, dearling. Do you remember snow?" Frodo looked up at her and shook his head firmly.

"Is't sweet?" he asked.

Primula stifled a chuckle at those words. "No, dear. It's like the rain."

Frodo gave her a look of disbelief, looked at the snow again, and then turned back to his mama and declared with all the dignity that an affronted three-year-old could muster, "Dat's _not_ wain."

She bit back another laugh. "No, I said _like_ the rain," she explained. "It's wet like the rain and it falls from the sky and covers everything, but it's very, very cold."

"Oh." Frodo frowned at the snow in puzzlement. "Why's it in da sky?"

Primula hesitated. Finally she said, "I don't know, love. You'll have to ask your papa when he comes home."

At that Frodo turned his back to the snow completely, intense curiosity burning in his eyes.

"Whe's Papa?" he demanded.

"He went to deliver a chest to one of the cousins, remember?" Drogo had left for Tuckborough yesterday afternoon and had planned to return today. The sight of the snow however, which came to the top of the lowest fence-rail, caused her to have a few doubts about _that_ happening.

"Oh." Frodo turned back to the snow. "Doesn' look wet," he objected.

"Maybe not, but it is," his mother answered. She noted the avid curiosity in her son's eyes and sighed privately. She _had_ planned for a nice baking day, but she knew that gleam far too well. Drogo often blamed her side of the family for it, claiming that it came from the Tooks. He was probably right. Well, this heavy of a snow didn't come very often to the Shire, and it would doubtless all melt in a few days.

"I tell you what, love," she said. "You get dressed, and we'll have second breakfast and then go out for a walk in the snow."

The look of wonder which her son gave her quite made up for the baking that she would miss, and then it changed to excitement and he dashed away to his little bedroom without saying another word.

Primula followed at a much slower pace. It usually wasn't difficult to get Frodo to eat his meals, but when he was excited it could be quite the chore. This morning she anticipated a bit of a battle.

-fjfjfjfjf-

An hour and a half later second breakfast was over, Frodo was clean, dressed, and combed, and the kitchen had been tidied. Frodo now stood in the front passage anxiously waiting as his mother bundled first him and then herself into coat, scarf, mittens, hat, and cloak.

Frodo tugged irritatedly at the woolen scarf. "Hot, Mama," he complained.

"I know," Primula soothed, "but snow is very cold, so you won't be soon."

Her son tugged at the scarf again and Primula knelt down and captured the small hands in her own. "Now, Frodo, listen to me," she said firmly. Frodo stopped twitching and gave his mother his full attention. "We are going outside now," Primula said, "but I want you to stay with me. You may play in the snow, but if you run away or try to take off your clothes we will have to come back inside. Do you understand?"

"'Es, Mama," the child answered.

"Good lad," Primula smiled, straightening up. Taking Frodo's hand she carefully opened the front door. A bit of the snow tumbled into the passage and she hastily dropped her son's hand and swept the snow out lest it melt and leave puddles.

Frodo gasped at the sudden shock of cold air. Even though there was no wind the frigid air outside was a far cry from the cosy warmth of the smial. Wide-eyed he gazed up at his mama.

"'S cold!" he murmured in surprise. After a pause he squatted down and poked gingerly at the white stuff with one mittened hand. To his surprise the 'snow' gave way easily, leaving behind an impression of his fingers.

"Look, Mama!" he exclaimed. "Holes!" He poked at the snow again and was again rewarded with a little hole.

His mama smiled. "Come on out, Frodo-love," she said. "Let's shut the door so that the snow doesn't get inside the smial." She scooped up her young son and shut the smial door, then carried him to the middle of the garden path and gently set him down.

Frodo gasped at the sensation of snow between his furry little toes. "_Cold_, Mama," he squeaked excitedly. He was so small yet and his feet were so big that he could almost stand on top of the snow without it breaking. He bent down and began poking holes in the snow again, and then scooped up a whole fistful and threw it into the air. White powder floated down, showering the faunt and the front of his mother's coat with glistening crystals. Frodo seemed to think this great fun and threw handful after handful into the air, crowing with happiness as he did so.

Primula gingerly knelt next to him and received a shower of snow in the face. Frodo giggled. Smiling, Primula scooped up a double-handful of snow herself.

"Look up, love," she told the faunt. Wide-eyed, he did as he was told and Primula threw her snow into the air. Frodo squealed with delight as the powder fell around them.

"Mo!" he cried.

Primula threw another handful into the air, and as it fell she told the child, "That is what the snow looked like when it fell last night." Throwing another handful she sing-songed, "It's snowing."

Frodo was delighted with the game. He threw handful after tiny handful into the air and then danced around crying, "T's 'nowing! T's 'nowing!"

Primula watched for a while, and then stood up and brushed off her coat. "Brush off, Frodo," she told him.

"Why?" Frodo demanded.

"Because I said so, and because we're going for a walk," she answered.

Frodo leaped up and began brushing the snow off of his knees. A walk was always fun, whether it was up the hill to Uncle Bilbo's or down to the market, but a walk in the snow would be like magic! "Whe?" he demanded eagerly.

Primula thought for a moment. They couldn't go too far since Frodo was still so young, but she wanted to show her lad some of the beauty of snow in a forest. Finally she said, "Let's walk to the Firs."

The Firs were a small cluster of fir trees which grew not too far from the Baggines home in Number 5, Bagshot Row. To get there one had to walk past the row of hobbit-holes and around the lower curve of the hill which all of the holes were dug into. Several firs grew in a small patch about twenty feet from the path which led down into Hobbiton, and the small Baggins family would often picnic there.

"Te Fus!" Frodo cried, and ran toward the front gate. He didn't get far before, *plop* the snow gave way beneath his feet and he disappeared into a snowdrift. The snow came up to the child's chest, and he twisted around and gazed at his mother with wide round eyes as if to say, 'what happened?'

Torn between feeling anxious over the fact that her three-year-old was nearly buried in snow and wanting to laugh at the look of astonishment on his face Primula hurried to her lad and fished him out of the drift. Holding him close to her chest she said firmly, "That's why you must stay with Mama, Frodo."

Frodo nodded, still wide-eyed, and then seemed to find his tongue. "Mama! Mama!" he cried. "I's 'noweded!"

"I see, dearling," she answered, brushing him off. "You look like a regular snow-hobbit." She set him gently back down, away from the drift. This time the crust of the snow held the faunt's weight.

Frodo crowed with laughter. "I's a 'now-hobbit!" he sang. He took her hand and began pulling her toward the front gate, babbling about showing "Unca Bo" all of the snow. Primula allowed herself to be dragged along, but after they reached the path and she shut the gate behind them she turned downward, toward the Firs.

Frodo anxiously tugged on her hand. "No, Mama. Unca Bo's!"

Primula became firm. "No, love. We're going to the Firs. Come." She began to walk and Frodo had no choice but to follow.

"Why?" he whined.

"Because your Uncle Bilbo doesn't like snow."

That stopped the child's protests at once. "Why?" he demanded, trotting to keep up with his mother. *plop* The snow gave way beneath him again. Primula pulled him out and brushed him off, and then slowed her pace until Frodo could keep up easily.

"I don't know, love," she answered. "He never -Frodo, look!" The last words were whispered as she drew the faunt to a halt and knelt down beside him.

Frodo looked at her and she gently turned his head toward the path, whispering, "Look at the road, love."

Frodo stared at the path for a moment and then cried, "Buds!"

Four small sparrows fluttered up from the path about five feet away from them at the exclaimation. The two hobbits stood still, watching, and then one of the birds fluttered back down to the road, perching on a twig not three feet from the watchers.

"Mama!" Frodo whispered. The faunt had been introduced to what birds were earlier that summer during one of their picnics to the Firs and, oddly in a child of three, respected their shyness. His mother drew him close, both of them entranced as the little bird nodded and bobbed on the twig, looking for a few crumbs. Primula wished that she had thought to bring some bread or crackers with her.

All too soon the sparrow flicked his tail and flew away to find crumbs somewhere else, breaking the spell which held the pair.

"Come back!" little Frodo cried, stretching out his arms toward where the bird had flown.

Primula bit back a small smile at this. "He won't come back because you tell him to, love," she murmured, giving her crestfallen son a hug. "Birds don't like to come be shouted at."

"Oh," Frodo said sadly, and then loudly whispered, "Come back, bud!"

Now Primula really was trying not to laugh. "Well, love, she smiled, "shall we go to the Firs and find some more birds?"

Frodo twisted around and looked up at her, his big eyes again filled with wonder and excitement, and then he squeaked a whispered, "'Es!"

Smiling at her child's eagerness Primula rose to her feet. "Come on then," she laughed, taking one of the little mittened hands in her own.

Frodo pranced happily and tugged his mother along, singing a song about going to see the Firs and the birds and the birds and the Firs and the birds and the birds, and Primula laughed and let him pull her along.

When they were nearly there Frodo stopped singing and began making "sus"ing noises at his mother. Primula laughed softly and scooped up her young son, settling him on one hip.

"Alright, Frodo-love," she murmured. "Now you need to stay with Mama because it might be deep here. Be very quiet, and maybe we'll see some birds."

"Sus," Frodo hushed himself.

Primula gave him a proud smile. "That's right," she whispered. "Shh."

"Sss."

Quietly and cautiously they left the path, making no noise but the softest crunch of snow beneath Primula's feet. Little Frodo clung tightly to his mother's neck with one arm, little giggles of anticipation escaping him as they approached the trees.

"Shh," Primula breathed.

"Sss," Frodo echoed, and put his free hand over his mouth as if to contain his excitement that way, but Primula still heard a few very soft muffled giggles and smiled to herself. He was such a little love. She was so very blessed to have such a special child.

The tall firs towered above their heads as they approached the old familiar picnic spot, now gleaming with new-fallen snow. Everywhere birds of all kinds were fluttering about and merrily chattering to each other in bird language. Little Frodo's breath caught in wonder at the sight.

"Buds, Mama," the faunt whispered, pointing eagerly at them.

"I see, love," his mama whispered back.

They still stood a good seven feet back from the trees and now, seeing the birds sheltering themselves from the cold, Primula began to walk in a wide circle _around_ the patch of firs rather than among them, carefully minding where she placed her feet. The last thing that she wanted was to trip and fall, possibly injuring her son. Frodo just kept staring at the trees and whispered things like, "Wed buds," and "Dewe's a _bue_ bud," and once, "Mama, look! A big, big one!" as he pointed at a rather fat crow which was perching on one of the higher branches.

His mother nodded back and agreed that the red birds were very pretty, and that it certainly was a bluebird, and that the crow was very big, and other comments of that nature, but all the while she was closely eyeing those trees. The birds seemed to be fine with their presence at this distance, but what would happen if they drew closer? Would they all fly away, or would they perhaps stay and defend their shelter from the invaders? In Buckland they would have flown away, but Buckland was a forest, with a hundred nearby trees, while here in Hobbiton, while there were plenty of trees around they were spread much farther apart, which was probably the reason that so many different kinds of birds had agreed to shelter together.

She glanced down at her child. He seemed content in just looking for now, and after all, he was only three. There would be more snowfalls in the future, and when he was older, maybe that would be a better time show him a forest in the snow. Then too, surely there would be at least one snowfall in Buckland that he could see. She smiled wistfully at the thought of her childhood home, and then nodded decisively.

"Frodo?" she murmured. "Are the birds happy?"

The faunt twisted around and gave her a puzzled look. "'Es," he answered.

"Then I think that we should leave them alone and go home."

Her son stared at her in dismay, and maybe even betrayal, and then came a very loud, "Why?" Several of the birds fluttered up briefly, but then settled back down.

"Because if we go into the trees then we'll bother them and they might fly away. If we leave them alone, though, they can stay there and be happy."

"Why?" Clearly Frodo was very _un_happy.

"Because in the trees they have food and a warm home," Primula explained. "There's lots of bugs and seeds for them to eat, and they can hide from the wind and stay warm, but if we bother them they will fly away and get cold and hungry. We wouldn't want them to be hungry, would we?"

Her son looked at her very earnestly as if he'd never thought of such a thing before, and then announced matter-of-factly, "I'S hungee!"

Primula's brows rose. "Are you now?" she said in mock surprise, glancing at the sun. To her surprise it was nearly time for elevenses.

"'Es!" the child declared, causing the sparrows startle up again.

"Well, I am too," his mother returned. "So why don't we go back home, and find some elevenses. We'll have some hot milk to warm us up, and bread with toasted cheese, and some applesauce, and then I'll make us some soup for luncheon while you draw a picture of the snow to show to your papa when he comes home. How does that sound?"

"'ES!" the child enthused, clapping his small hands with pleasure at the thought of toasted cheese and applesauce, one of his favourite meals. Primula was relieved that she'd won her battle so easily (sometimes her child could be the epitome of a stubbourn Baggins when he wanted something) and began to make her way back to the smial while Frodo bounced excitedly on her hip and chattered about the birds, and toasted cheese and applesauce, and snow, and telling Papa and Unca Bo, and a good many other things beside all the way home.

-o-o-o-

A/N: The idea of Drogo's family living on The Hill below Bilbo came from Larner.


End file.
